


keep the faith

by nilchance



Series: lest ye be judged [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, set before the game but after Gaster's accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 08:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11180919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Sans is silent now. Sans is still. He's not even working on the machine. He's just... sitting, looking at it. His shoulders are slumped like someone is leaning on his back. If his eyes weren't giving off that dull, unblinking glow, Papyrus would think he'd fallen down.





	keep the faith

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the epilogue of lest ye be judged, or about 11 years after Asgore originally found them in that alley and 4 years before the start of the resets.

For someone as lazy as he is, Sans is rarely silent and never still.  
   
Papyrus knows from sharing many a bed, box, bench and convenient doorstep with him over the years that Sans kicks, snores and mumbles in his sleep. When he's concentrating hard, studying his nerdy science books for his nerdy science exams, he absently jiggles his knee so that his bones rattle. He hums to himself, snickers when he's coming up with (horrible) puns, and generally provides the irritating background noise of Papyrus's life.  
   
Lately there's been the machine. It's moved into their living room like a strange fourth roommate. It manages to be more annoying than the dog (which is quite a feat) because Sans never stops working on it. New noises: the scrape of bone on metal (his hands are always scratched and chipped now), the click and rattle of wrenches and screws, the occasional ringing _clang_ when Sans loses his patience and tries what he calls percussive maintenance.  
   
Three months ago, Papyrus would've said that Sans's patience didn't have an end.  
   
Papyrus can live with the humming and the rattling and snoring. He can live with the machine. He can even live with the way Sans talks to himself now when he thinks Papyrus can't hear, a low monotonous mumble to no one: _I can fix this. It's okay. Hang tight._  
   
Sans is silent now. Sans is still. He's not even working on the machine. He's just... sitting, looking at it. His shoulders are slumped like someone is leaning on his back. If his eyelights weren't giving off that dull, unblinking glow, Papyrus would think he'd fallen down.  
   
"Sans?" Papyrus’s voice comes out a little high. "I stopped for groceries."  
   
Sans turns his head towards Papyrus, listening. He doesn't take his eyes off the machine, like he thinks it’s going to pounce. "Thanks, buddy. How was school?"  
   
The same question every day, even when it isn't a school day. Sans lost track of what day it is when he stopped going to work. "It was fun," Papyrus says. "One of my friends stuck me in a trashcan. A wonderful jape. Did you eat today?"  
   
"Yeah."  
   
Sans lies all the time. Little lies: _I ate already. No, I don't know where that dog came from. What whoopee cushion?_ Big lies: _I tripped. I found this gold in the gutter. I'm fine._ It's just part of him, like his HP or how only one of his eyes can glow. Unfortunate but unchanging. If Papyrus fought him on all of them, the fighting would never stop.  
   
Papyrus sighs loud so that Sans knows he doesn't believe it, then lets it go. He looks at the machine, trying to figure out what Sans sees. It looks the same to him, a lifeless hulk that smells funny. "What are you doing?"  
   
"Nothing," Sans says, and laughs. It's the first time he's done it in a while, and he sounds rusty. "Absolutely nothing."  
   
Papyrus sits down beside him. "Thank you for that vague yet literal answer. Why are you doing nothing?"  
   
"Because it's broken," Sans says.  
   
Everyone at the lab said that. That's why they tried to get Sans to work on something else, until they just gave up and let him have the machine. If it was going to ever turn on and mess up time and space, they wouldn't have let it out of the lab. Sans is smart, and he had to know that all along. He just wouldn't say it.  
   
"I tried," Sans says. His voice is expressionless. "I can't fix it."  
   
Papyrus gets the eerie, unshakable feeling that Sans is talking to someone else, too. They're alone in the apartment. Of course they are. They've never had anybody else.  
   
There's a moment where Papyrus almost says, _you can do it! I believe in you!_ He hates the idea of anyone giving up on anything. But he wants his brother back. The old Sans, the _right_ Sans who wasn't confused and sad all the time, who made jokes and left the apartment and cared about things.  
   
"Well!" Papyrus fakes cheer as best he can. "There are lots of other things you could be doing instead! Like showering! Or eating! Or..." He's out of things. He flails for more, which is the only reason he latches onto, "You could tell me a bedtime story."  
   
Papyrus is fifteen now, too old for stories. It's not even dark outside. But that's what gets Sans's attention.  
   
It's a little unnerving how hard Sans looks at him, like Papyrus is the first handhold out of a deep hole. Papyrus tries to smile.  
   
"I screwed everything up," Sans says. His voice cracks.  
   
Sans looks too brittle to be touched, but that's it, too much awfulness for one conversation. Papyrus hugs Sans like he can hold his bones together. Sans lets himself be hugged but doesn’t hug Papyrus back. "I don't care about the machine, Sans. Lots of things can time travel! If you sit here for a minute, you'll have traveled a minute in the future!"  
   
Sans makes a noise that's not quite a laugh. "Technically, yeah--"  
   
"So," Papyrus says firmly, "bending time and space can wait. Other things are more important right now."  
   
"You." Sans leans his forehead on Papyrus's shoulder. He took off his hoodie at some point, and the bare bones of his arms are cold to the touch. Skeletons aren't bothered by the cold, but Sans is shivering. "I've still got you."  
   
"Of course you do." Papyrus tightens his grip. "Don't be ridiculous. Where would I go?"  
   
"I don't need anybody else. I shouldn't have..." Sans falters, then repeats, "I don't need anything else."  
   
Papyrus rubs the back of Sans's skull where Sans hit it on the lab floor. Back when Sans started asking strange questions, and forgetting stories he ought to know, and talking about that man... what had his name been?  
   
It doesn't matter. The man isn't real. Sans is the one who taught Papyrus to talk in hands. Sans is the one who always looked after them. If Papyrus has to look after him now, that's okay. Even if it's a little scary and a lot sad. It will get better.  
   
"Understandable," Papyrus says. "I am very great. But you also need a shower, because you smell terrible. And dinner! I'm sure your HP is down again. Honestly, brother, I've been worried sick."  
   
"Sorry," Sans says. This time he sounds like he's only talking to Papyrus. His sigh comes from the bottom of his soul. "'m tired."  
   
Sans makes no effort to move. He's surprisingly small for all the space he takes up in Papyrus's heart. Papyrus rearranges Sans so he doesn't fall over. The last thing they need is another whack to Sans's head. "You can sleep for a gratuitous amount of hours. It's a strange hobby, but--"  
   
Sans mumbles something into Papyrus's chest. It's sleep mumbling, all the words smearing together. It’s comfortingly familiar. Tension that Papyrus didn’t realize he was holding onto eases at once.  
   
"I suppose you'll want me to carry you to bed," Papyrus says. "Well. Fine! Just this once. I don't want you to hurt your back on the floor."  
   
He scoops Sans up and heads for the bedroom. His brother is thankfully very portable. Papyrus considers Sans's bed, but it needs to be made; the mattress has been bare for weeks. Sans hasn't been sleeping much. Less than Papyrus, even, which is just copycat behavior. Quite rude.  
   
In the end Papyrus puts Sans in the racecar bed. Sans curls up like he's trying to make himself harder to hit. Old habits.  
   
Papyrus tells him, "Don't worry, brother. I’m sure things will look better in the morning."  
 

***

   
Lowering his fork, Sans says, "Hey, you want to get out of here?"  
   
It's morning. Sans is different. More accurately, Sans has stopped being different. He slept for a long time. He's showered and is, if not presentable, at least the same amount of disheveled as usual. He's eating breakfast. He remembered that today isn't a school day. Most promising, he hasn't gone back to the machine.  
   
"Wowie," Papyrus says, "out of the apartment?"  
   
"Heh. Well, yeah, but I was thinking more like," Sans vaguely gestures with his fork, which still has a waffle on it, "out of the capital."  
   
Papyrus blinks at him, a half dozen questions caught between his mind and his mouth. Sans waits. Finally, Papyrus manages to ask, "What about the lab?"  
   
"Yeah, uh." Sans doesn't look at the machine. "I'm not... I don't think that'd be a real good place for me right now, bud."  
   
Papyrus nods emphatically before Sans can get guilty or weird about it. It's unfortunate that the apartment comes with the job at the lab, but it's not really a home. People in stories have homes that mean something to them, four walls with good memories and a big family that's safe and _theirs_. Christmas lights and neighbors that don't give annoyed (pitying) looks.  
   
The apartment is just a bigger cardboard box that doesn't leak. Sans is Papyrus's home.  
   
"Where?" Papyrus asks.  
   
"Anywhere that's not the city." Sans flicks a look out the window. "Can't stand the view."  
   
Papyrus cranes his head to see what bothers Sans so much. There's nothing he can see. It's only the castle. He frowns at Sans.  
   
Sans’s smile tells him nothing. "We can go anywhere you want to go. You don't gotta change schools if we move to Hotland."  
   
Papyrus switches to glowering at Sans. It's not very effective, because Sans just laughs. "I'll change schools. No Hotland!"  
   
Sans considers him for a long moment. Papyrus thinks he might ask about school, all the friends Papyrus has made and their high-spirited jokes, or about the several textbooks Papyrus has had to replace this quarter. Papyrus scrambles for a way to say it's fine, he doesn't mind, but Sans only nods and says, "Okay. Cool. Blank slate. I dig it."  
   
Papyrus tries not to look relieved, then stiffens. "Was that a geology pun?"  
   
Sans winks at him. "Did it rock your world?" Then, alarmed: "Why are you--? It wasn't that bad, was it?"  
   
Two months without a dumb pun. Papyrus kept track. He wipes at his eyes and says honestly, delightedly,  "It was terrible."  
   
"Jeez." A little frantically, Sans grabs a wad of napkins and pushes them across the table at Papyrus. He's never been very good at dealing with crying. "Didn't mean to take you for granite."  
   
Papyrus pats his hand. "Don't worry. I appreciate the, nyeh, sediment."  
   
Sans laughs, startled, then gives him the kind of soft look Sans has been giving him since they were babybones. "You're so cool, bro. You're my favorite."  
   
It's that look that says Papyrus is the _great_ Papyrus. Not the middling, average, maybe-not-that-good Papyrus. Great.  
   
"Naturally. I love you too. " Papyrus points a stern finger at him. "To business! No Hotland, no city. What does that leave?"  
   
Sans produces a map from up his sleeve, because he keeps an improbable amount of items up there. Opening it up, he points to two spots on the map. "Snowdin and Waterfall."  
   
"Waterfall?" Papyrus perks up. "That's where Undyne lives!"  
   
For a strange moment Sans seems to wince. Then it's gone, a trick of the eye, and he's grinning easily. "Who?"  
   
"Honestly, Sans, it's like everything I say to you goes in one ear and out the other."  
   
"Maybe it's because I don't have ears."  
   
"Excuses," Papyrus huffs. Excitement wins out over annoyance, and he gets up to pace as he explains (again), "She's amazing. They call her the Spear of Justice. She's going to be the head of the royal guard. The youngest ever! She was trained by the king himself! She even knocked him down once! The king!"  
   
"Imagine that," Sans murmurs. He's obviously awestruck, as is appropriate.  
   
"If we lived there, I could meet her! I could impress her! We could be..." Papyrus clasps his hands to his chest. " _Friends_."  
   
"You will be,” Sans says, like it’s easy. “She sounds cool. You're definitely cool. You oughta get along like a house on fire."  
   
"Yes? I mean, yes! Of course we will. She'll meet me and see that I'm destined for the guard." Papyrus stops pacing. "But..."  
   
Sans raises his brows. "Yeah?"  
   
Papyrus wrings his hands. "What if seeing me every day is too much Papyrus?"  
   
"Don't think that's possible, bro."  
   
"Oh." Papyrus paces another few steps, then turns back to Sans. "No. Better to appear mysterious and intriguing! Or at least until I develop my biceps. Not Waterfall."  
   
"Okay." Sans makes the map disappear. It's slightly less impressive when Papyrus has seen him shoplift from most of the stores in the capital. They have a list of people Sans will eventually pay back. "So. Snowdin?"  
   
"Snowdin," Papyrus says, trying out the word. "I've never seen snow before."  
   
"Heh. It's--"  
   
"Don't say it's cool, Sans, or so help me."  
   
"That's a great pun," Sans says. "I was gonna say powdery."  
   
Papyrus groans. "Your approval fills me with shame."  
   
"Harsh," Sans says, grinning up at him.  
   
"Ugh." Papyrus sits back down at the table. "Are they nice in Snowdin?"  
   
"Dunno. Hope so." Sans shrugs. "Looks nice. They got a Christmas tree in the middle of town."  
   
"Christmas tree?" They've had those before, once they got the apartment. Little ones. "Do they have lights?"  
   
"Bunch of 'em."  
   
"On the houses, too?"  
   
"Yep.”  
   
"Sans..." Papyrus shifts in his seat. "We could do that. Like in the books."  
   
Sans still looks exhausted, but his eyelights are bright when he says, "Anything you want."  
 

***

   
They get a house.  
   
The house is perfect. Bigger than the apartment, even. Big enough for Papyrus's bedroom to have a bed _and_ a bookcase _and_ a table. No water stains on the ceilings. No dripping faucet. The stove actually works.  
   
Papyrus wanders through all the rooms, touching everything. Sans lays on the couch and watches. Lazy. All he did was teleport everything in the apartment and then Papyrus. Papyrus barely got to use his biceps.  
   
(The machine came with them. It's in the shed. Papyrus doesn't like to think about that.)  
   
The house is theirs. There are lights on it. It's perfect, but...  
   
Papyrus goes back into the living room and stands above Sans. "Did we forget something?"  
   
"I dunno," Sans says. "Did you?"  
   
Sans is not cured. He has strange moods. Sometimes Papyrus finds him by himself staring at nothing, eyelights extinguished, and then he has to herd and scold until Sans comes back. But Sans does come back. He's trying. Papyrus can see that. He feels a tenderness for Sans that makes his chest hurt.  
   
So he picks up a mop and nudges Sans with its handle. "Maybe you should go back and check, lazybones."  
   
"Nah." Sans snuggles deeper into the couch. "If you forgot it, we don't need it anyway."  
   
"I forget nothing. My mind is like a steel trap, except I don't have to worry about hurting bears." Papyrus rubs the back of his neck, looking around the living room. "We're missing somebody."  
   
Sans points behind him. When Papyrus turns, the dog is frozen guiltily in the door of the kitchen. He has Sans's hand in his mouth.  
   
"You--!" Papyrus takes a step forward. The dog scrambles for the stairs and is gone, so Papyrus turns on the other culprit. "How many times have I told you not to play bone fetch with the dog?"  
   
"X plus one,” Sans says, because he’s clearly not getting his normal nerdy outlets.  
   
"You're teaching him terrible habits!"  
   
"Can't teach you any. It's gotta go somewhere." Sans gives him a tired grin. "I'd give you a hand with dinner, but..."  
   
"You would not." Papyrus applies the mop handle one last time. "Up! We're eating dinner together in our nice new home. It's traditional. Or it’s going to be!”  
   
Sans pushes the mop away and gets up. The terrible greasepit bar Sans washes dishes at pays in food, which is highly unfortunate. They've eaten out of too many diner dumpsters for grease to sit easily in Papyrus's stomach. Still, it’s food, and Sans seems content washing dishes.  
   
"It sure beats a cardboard box." Sans looks around the living room, then back at Papyrus. "You happy, buddy?"  
   
Papyrus knows Sans like his own bones. He hears the anxious edge under the question. The thing Sans isn’t asking: _is it enough?_ Like he’s trying to make amends for something when Papyrus has no idea why.  
   
“Very much so,” Papyrus says. Then, knowing he won’t like the answer whether it’s a comforting lie or a miserable truth: “Are you?”  
   
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Sans says easily. A question for a question. Sans is really good at that game, but he can’t dodge forever. Papyrus is stubborn. He’ll wear Sans down.  
   
“Yes,” Papyrus says. It’s all he can do right now, just until things get better. Things will get better. He has to believe that. “I’m here.” 


End file.
